Page 264 of Craving Venom
I know what he’s really saying. That he thinks he was born broken, made to destroy, never meant to love or be loved. That he’s lived his life circling shadows, hunting silence, trying to outrun whatever ache lives in his blood.
He thinks I’m his light.
But what he doesn’t know is, he’s mine too. Not because he’s safe. But because in a world that tries to silence, to harden, to make me small, he sees all of me and doesn't flinch. He meets my storm with his own. And somehow, together, we don’t break, we burn.
And maybe that’s what the moon does best—not save, but illuminate the shadows that others run from.
I don’t say any of this out loud. I just hold him tighter, press my lips to his jaw, and let him feel it in the way my body answershis. The way my soul anchors to his as though it’s always known the dark.
Because if he’s the Nighthawk, cursed and winged and hungry for something more—
Then I’ll be the moon that never stops calling him home.
He thrusts again, and it’s not just to push me over the edge, but to swallow the sky just to reach me. My scream rips through my throat, but it never makes it out. It’s devoured by the ringing in my ears. The world falls away. My head jerks back. The moon is the last thing I see before my eyes slam shut and it follows me into the dark.
The moon holds me as I shatter, but the stars burn me back together in his image. I don’t get to rise as myself. I rise as his.
The cry that leaves me is jagged, and it knocks me off-center, pitching my body backward as if it’s ready to follow the orgasm into freefall. My pussy pulses hard, clenched around his cock, milking him for everything, but Zane doesn’t slow down. He thrusts through the pleasure that tips over into pain.
“Give me one more,” he growls. “Right now. I want one more.”
“I—Zane—”
“Now.”
He slams into me again and I scream. My legs shake. My nails dig into his back. My orgasm hasn’t even finished before the next one crashes into it. My body locks. I clench so tight it hurts.
And Zane roars.
His cock throbs deep inside me as he comes, pumping into me like he’s trying to leave something I’ll never be able to scrape out.
We’re both shaking, both wrecked, but he doesn’t stop. Zane keeps grinding into me, drawing out every last tremor like he’s determined to make it last. My thighs quiver around his hips, oversensitive and raw, but I don’t pull away.
Our breaths clash between us, filling the silence with something heavier than words. He doesn’t move for a long time.Just holds me, breathing like a man who’s finally found his religion.
And I realize that I am the prayer he never meant to say out loud.
And now, he’ll never stop worshipping me.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
THE BEAUTY
“You made coffee?”
Zane sits cross-legged in front of me on my bed like he didn’t just fuck me on the edge of a rooftop an hour ago. His jeans are back on, low on his hips, fly half undone. The tattoos curling over his torso are impossible to look away from.
His hands are steady as he offers me a mug, and I take it, my fingers brushing his in a minor contact, but it singes. Heat curls through me. My thighs tighten, and I cross my legs beneath his hoodie, trying to act casual, trying not to let it show.
Zane drinks, tasting coffee with every slow sip. One, then another. His eyes never leave mine.
“You do realize I can go to Sebastian,” I say, sipping. “Tell him everything you’ve told me tonight.”
Zane nods.
“Aren’t you going to threaten me not to?”
“I’ll let you make that decision.”
